


Sacrifice

by BlueNeutrino



Series: A Hunter's Heart in an Angel's Hands [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cardiophilia, Gore, Horror, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Prompt Fill, where Dean's all tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hunt goes sideways, Dean gets captured by an Aztec god, and it's down to Cas to save him before he becomes its next sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wisepuma23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisepuma23/gifts).



> So here's a prompt fill for wisepuma23, in which Dean's heart is threatened and Cas comes to save him. Because of the horror theme I wanted to post this on Halloween, but because I've been so busy I didn't get it all finished in time, so this is just the first chapter. I'm aiming to get the rest posted between now and November 5, since that's Bonfire Night in the UK, but I don't think I can promise anything. Also, banner!

-oOo-

There’s something pulling at Dean’s arms. He isn’t aware of much else, but he can feel the straining in his shoulder blades as something tugs at his wrists to pull them high above his head. Tension sears across his back and down his neck, the discomfort gradually building to a sharp burn in his muscles. Slowly, other sensations seep into his awareness to join the pain. There’s a chill on his skin, telling of cold, dry air that whispers across his bare flesh as he realizes he’s naked from the waist up. A deep sense of unease begins to settle heavy in his gut.

Groggy and disoriented, Dean groans. He tries to flex his wrists and ankles as consciousness steadily comes back to him, but he quickly realizes that movement isn’t easy. There’s something thick and heavy pinching tightly at his wrists and keeping them hoisted up, restricting his movement as a soft metallic jangle of chains meets his ears. He’s barefoot, too; toes barely skimming the cold floor so that all of his weight is carried by his strained shoulders. No wonder it hurts so much.

With the unease inside him quickly turning to fear, Dean’s eyes ease open. The only sight he’s met with is dimness.

“Sam?” He’s awake enough to try calling for help, but his mouth and throat are so dry that his first attempt is only a hoarse whisper. He tries again. “Sammy?”

The word rings out lonely and desolate in the darkness, its faint reverb telling him that there are walls out there somewhere. Wherever he is, it doesn’t look like there’s an easy way out. Dean swallows heavily, his breathing sounding horribly loud in the silence as he feels his heart start to pound. There’s audible fear in his voice as he lets out one more desperate cry of, “Sam!”

It makes his blood run cold when he hears a soft, cruel chuckle sound in response. “Sam’s the tall one, right?”

Ice rakes down Dean’s spine as he hears the reply. The voice is low and raspy, with a light accent that Dean would place as Mexican or another kind of Latin American Spanish. It carries a heavy note of threat.

“Where is he? What have you done with him?” Dean’s aggression just about manages to hide the tremor in his voice.

Again, there’s a cold laugh. “Don’t worry, Dean. He’ll get his chance to be where you are eventually. Right now, it’s yourself you ought to be concerned about.”

That’s wholly chilling. “Who are you?” Dean spits out the question, voice wavering just slightly as he fails to hide the extent of his fear for himself, and for Sam.

“I think you know.”

“Let me guess, you’re the guy who ripped all those people’s hearts out? The one we’ve been hunting?”

“Correct.” In the instant that the man says it, Dean sees the orange glow of a flame flicker in front of him, and then the red light of fire suddenly swells up to surround him on all sides. He flinches as he feels the heat of it, scared for a moment that it’s going to reach him, but he soon figures out that it’s contained. There are torches in the walls and floor, connected by oil-filled canals that the man has just ignited to illuminate the room around them.

Dean can at last make out the shape of the man in front of him as he takes in the surroundings of solid concrete walls. He doesn’t know exactly where he is, but he’s going to guess it’s a basement of some kind. The taint of the red light feels horribly familiar, as does the bite of the chains hoisting him off the floor. He has to take a couple of deep breaths for a moment to remind himself that this isn’t Hell. If he keeps calm he can still find a way out.

He twists his head and blinks, focusing on the figure advancing steadily towards him. It looks like a man around Dean’s age, possibly a little older, with olive toned skin and coal-dark hair. Sinister shadows flicker across his face, cast by the menacingly sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, and that only emphasises the predatory look in his eyes. The pitch blackness of his irises is unmistakeably inhuman.

Dean swallows nervously as the man – _monster_ – comes to a stop just a couple of feet in front of him. Its eyes rake hungrily across Dean’s body and linger on his exposed chest, making the hunter’s skin crawl. Dean clears his throat before speaking again. “Great. So does that make you one of those Aztec-god-worshipping nutjobs? 'cause I gotta say, the last one I met was hotter.”

It raises its dark eyebrows at him, giving him a mocking look. “Really? That’s the conclusion you’ve drawn? I’m disappointed.” It leans in closer, and for a moment Dean thinks he sees its facial features change. The mostly human lines and features recede into the shadows creeping across its face, becoming replaced instead by sharp, twisted ridges of teeth and horn and bone. The image flickers like smoke, caught somewhere between reality and a darker, altogether more twisted plane of existence, and a heartbeat later it’s gone. Dean glimpsed it for long enough to trigger a fresh wave of fear.

His breath catches and he can’t help the way he recoils, causing the chains around his wrists to jangle. “Yeah, well, what can I say? You're not my type.” He’s trying to keep talking in a tone of nonchalance to disguise just how afraid he is, but his heart has started pounding madly and there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin that isn’t caused by the heat. He has a horrible feeling he knows what the thing is about to say.

The creature suddenly reaches up, pinching his chin tightly to tilt his face towards its own. Dean is forced to stare into its eyes as he hears the answer. “I’m not sacrificing _to_ a god, boy. I _am_ a god. You should be careful how you speak to me.”

So he’s been captured by a god. An Aztec one, it seems, considering his and Sam’s earlier research on the case. The situation just got even more frightening, but Dean tries not to let it show. He gives the thing a sarcastic smirk. “Right, so you’re sacrificing to yourself because you can’t get anyone to do it for you. That’s just kinda pathetic.”

It glares at him, and for a moment he wonders if the thing is going to try to hurt him, but then it roughly lets go of his face and turns to walk away. Dean watches as it paces towards something a few paces in front of him: another large rectangular block of concrete protruding from the floor. Dean wonders what it’s meant to be. A table? An altar? Whatever this place is, it looks like the god has tried to repurpose it for its own twisted designs.

“It’s true, finding worshippers has become much harder than it was,” the god admits as it comes to a stop beside the altar, surveying the items he has laid out upon it. His back is still turned to Dean. “Gone are the days when Huitzilopochtli was revered, and some would even go willingly to their deaths to be sacrificed to me.” He reaches out to pick something up and then turns back round again, raising the item with a cruel glint in his each. Dean’s stomach churns as he sees it’s a knife - crudely shaped and made of flint, but unmistakeably a blade.

The god, Huitzilopochtli, begins to pace back towards him. “But times move on. I appreciate that,” it continues to drawl, leering at him as it once again comes to stand just a few inches from his face. “I won’t pretend that I don’t miss being idolized, or that I’m not somewhat nostalgic for the ceremony of the sacrificial ritual, but I’m more than capable of taking what I want for myself.”

He raises a hand and rests the flat of the blade against Dean’s chest, before twisting and pressing just slightly to draw a thin trickle of blood. Dean gasps sharply, toes scrabbling on the floor as he tries to pull away, but the god seems as though he’s enjoying taking his time. He doesn’t try cutting deeper.

“So, what? You’re gonna rip my heart out?” Dean asks nervously, mouth dry and voice trembling as much as the rest of his body. If he’d been aiming for sassy, it only comes out as scared.

Huitzilopochtli gives him a smirk. “A god has to eat.”

“That’s what you want heart sacrifices for?”

“Of course. No point in asking for sacrifices of things for which I have no use.” Noticing the horrified look on Dean’s face, Huitzilopochtli’s expression twists even more cruelly. “Don’t worry, I’ll cook it first. Why do you think I started the fire?”

Dean’s head starts to swim as he thinks he wants to pass out from fear. _Alastair did this once in Hell. Tore my heart out and burned it in front of me…_ He tries not to think of that as he forces himself to control his breathing and focus on the fact that he’s not in Hell and he can still find a way out.

The blade hasn’t left his chest, and Dean feels a fresh stab of pain as the god, horrifically slowly, starts to slice deeper. He has to do something now.

“You really don’t wanna do that,” Dean suddenly blurts out in desperation, mind failing to come up with anything else fast enough. It’s utterly lame, and even he doesn’t expect the god will pay him any heed, but to his immense relief he feels the pressure of the blade suddenly halt. Shocked, he blinks, staring into the face of the god who has an amused eyebrow raised. It quickly becomes apparent that the god is only humoring him for its own amusement, but Dean thinks he can work with that.

“And why is that?” the god mocks sardonically, cocking its head at him.

Dean swallows. “Look, Hootzi…withi...poco… alright, I’m just gonna call you Witt, because your name is some real alphabet soup, but seriously, killing me would be a mistake. You do that, and my brother knows what you are and how to kill you.”

‘Witt’ gives him a bored look. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“He will do it. He’s killed gods before.” Even as Dean continues to try playing for time, he can see that it isn’t working. The god just shakes his head.

“Let me assure you, Dean, your brother’s in no better position to do me any harm than you are. Now why don’t you just be a good little human and learn your place?” He gives the knife another shove, and Dean cries out as he feels it carve past the skin and into muscle. Just inches below it, his heart’s pounding frantically in terror as panic floods his brain. “This pathetic sack of meat you call a body was just made to be sacrificed to those like me,” Huitzilopochtli snarls, and while Dean’s scared his vision’s about to black out he still glimpses something horrific in the god’s black eyes.

“Cas!” The name leaves his lips in panic, the first thought flooding his fear stricken mind, and once again he’s surprised to feel the blade’s cutting halt.

He tries to focus his eyes enough to see the god giving him a look of curious amusement. “Alright, I’ll admit, I like taking my time over this. I find it gives the meat a better flavor if I go nice and slow. So, you’ve intrigued me, and I’ll ask: what’s a Cas?”

Chest heaving, Dean blinks at him and tries to catch his breath. He can still feel the sharp bite of the blade buried in his skin, and there’s a hot trickle of blood spilling down his torso. He wants to be sick. “Look…” he gasps out, trying to get a handle on the pain as he buys himself more time to formulate a plan. “You touch my heart, and I know an angel who’ll be pissed at you.”

“An angel?” Witt looks amused. “You do understand you’re talking to a god, boy?”

“Yeah,” Dean growls back, gritting his teeth as he gives a defiant glare. “A god who’s followers are all long dead. No one believes in you anymore, Witt, but angels, on the other hand? There’s plenty who still believe in them. You really wanna try taking one on?”

The god’s look of sadistic amusement quickly fades to one of anger. Dean’s insolence has struck a nerve. “Take a look around you,” he spits, provoking another agonized cry as he gives a push on the blade. “I’ve transformed this place into a temple _to me._ Your Judeo-Christian mythology has no place here. No angel can stop me. If I want your heart, I’ll take it.”

He’s leaned in closer to Dean’s face, lips pulling back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. His other hand rises to press against Dean’s chest, fingers sliding either side of the thick blade buried in the hunter’s skin and pushing down hard. It’s all Dean can do not to scream in pain.

“Can you feel how fast it’s beating?” Huitzilopochtli taunts him softly. “Aren’t you just so _scared_? Let’s not rush this, Dean. I want to feel your heart pounding when I rip it out.”

Dean whimpers, feeling the blade twist and slice deeper. _Please, let him be wrong… Cas, I need your help… You’re the only chance I’ve got…_

Some of the prayer actually manages to come out in between his cries of pain, but Dean doesn’t know if Cas can hear him or if the angel even has the power to do anything here. The knife is pushing deeper, flint biting into the tissues to make a channel to his heart, and Dean cries out as he feels it scrape across his ribs. His heart’s thundering in his ears, blood pounding against his skull and amplifying the pain with each anvil-heavy beat. He thinks he’s just about on the brink of passing out from sheer terror and agony when something cuts through the haze of darkness and glowing orange surrounding him, and a brilliant white light floods his slowly fading vision.


	2. Sacrificed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, as promised. There are some outtakes that I tried to write for this chapter, which were meant to provide more of a background for the story and show things from Cas' perspective, but I was really struggling to get them to work and I didn't like how I was writing them, so in the end I just cut them. Hence, there's less context for the situation than I intended to provide, but I am going to post the outtakes at the end after I finish the story. There will be at least one more chapter after this, but I don't know when I'll get it up. Suffice to say, soon.

“ _Get away from him_.”

The low rumble of Cas’ voice is like the sound of a lifeboat horn to a drowning man. Dean feels relief sweep over him as he hears it, raising his head to stare into the fading white light and fix his gaze on the angel’s form. Cas cuts an imposing figure silhouetted against the flames, shadows flickering across his face to make the dangerous looks in his eyes even more intense. Dean feels his heart give a hopeful leap, which only makes it hurt all the more as Witt twists the blade and wrenches it back out of Dean’s chest. Dean gasps, panting heavily as he feels a fresh surge of blood gush out of him.

The god has turned to fix his gaze on Castiel, but the angel looks past him towards Dean, concern evident beneath all the fury painted on his face. Dean tries to flash him a cocky grin, although it’s probably more of a pained grimace. “Took your time,” he croaks out. “Dude was about to go full _Temple of Doom_ on me.”

There’s a brief moment in which Cas looks like he just wants to run to Dean and make sure he’s okay, but then he gets a handle on himself and keeps his gaze defensively steady. “Apologies. This place was hard to find.” He says it drily, not wanting to let his guard down, but his anger seems barely contained as he turns his attention back to Witt.

The god gives him a cruel smirk. “But clearly you _did_ find it, and somehow managed to get past my wards. I suppose I should commend you for that.”

Castiel menacingly tilts his head forward, making the shadows across his face even more severe. “The unholy curses you put on this place were not as powerful as you’d hoped. Now I will give you one chance: walk away from Dean, before I bring the wrath of Heaven down on you.”

Dean’s consciousness is still on the brink of fading out, but he’s aware enough to feel a chill at the cold laugh the god gives.

“Heaven? Quite an innocuous place, compared to what I promise my followers. I’m not sure what I have to fear.” He’s twirling the sacrificial knife in his fingers, still drenched in Dean’s blood, and Castiel’s fists clench as he watches a few drops land on the floor.

“What you have to fear is me.”

“Is that so?”

In response, Cas narrows his eyes, fixing the god with an even harder stare. A spark of blue begins to glow behind his irises, and Dean swears he can feel static crackle in the air as a low rumbling reverberates around them. Pure power radiates from the angel as Dean watches the shadowy forms of wings rise up from the writhing flames behind him.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight. Even though he knows it’s Cas, even Dean is a little scared beyond the immense relief he feels.

The feeling is shortlived as after a moment or two, he sees the light in Cas’ eyes begin to flicker. The vast winged silhouettes stutter for a moment, and then are snuffed out completely. Cas lets out a gasp, slumping forward as if he’s been dealt a physical blow. His threatening expression of moments ago has been replaced by one that looks shocked, and worried.

Huitzilopochtli laughs again, and Dean feels a fresh jolt of fear. “Looks like those unholy curses were actually quite powerful after all,” the god taunts, turning to look back at Dean. “Is this your angel, boy? He’s really not so frightening, although maybe I’ll get to take him on just like you wanted.”

The god then raises a hand, palm outstretched, towards the fire. He curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as if to pull something upwards from the ground, and in response the flames begin to twist and warp in front of him. Cas turns his face towards it, looking exhausted and breathless from the sudden power suppressing his grace. The fire shoots upwards in a column as a high-pitched shriek splits the air, and then the pillar of flame starts to thicken and take on a more definite shape.

Dean stares, both terrified and amazed as it curls back on itself, protrusions like limbs sprouting from the burning mass and then assembling themselves into the shape of a cat. It’s large, snarling and predatory: eyes sinister points of blackness in the inferno.

Cas stares at it, his expression apprehensive as realizes the tables have been flipped on him. His angel blade slides from the sleeve of his trenchcoat into his fist as he prepares to fight.

Then, with a flick of Huitzilopochtli’s wrist, the flaming jaguar launches itself at Cas.

Its first attack comes in the form of burning claws swiping at Cas’ face. The angel twists out of the way, bringing up his blade to try and slash back at it, but the flames just lick over the metal and effortlessly reassemble on the other side. There’s the faintest spark of white light as the power in the blade tries to work, but it’s not enough. Cas has to dodge out of the way again when the next attack comes, his weapon seeming to have no effect. He knows he can’t defeat this creature without his grace at full power, but if he doesn’t, he also knows Dean dies.

Dean watches in horror as Cas and the flame-monster fight, the angel already seeming drained by whatever power Witt is holding over him. Tears of desperation start to prick at Dean’s eyes and he futilely pulls at the chains restraining him, his instincts screaming at him that he needs to go help, but he knows it’s no use. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was about to get his heart ripped out, he’s now terrified that he’ll have to watch Cas get mauled-slash-burned to death first.

Huitzilopochtli seems more interested in watching Dean’s reactions than he is the actual fight. He takes a couple of steps towards Dean again and pinches his chin. “Not quite going how you expected, hmm? Your angel’s been a bit of a disappointment, but you I’m impressed by.” Dean gives him a look of disgust as the god shifts his hand to press instead against the pulse point in Dean’s neck. “You’re still awake and your heart’s still beating good and strong. I think I’m going to get a good meal out of you.”

Dean feels his skin crawl as he tries to ignore the god’s torments and instead keep his attention focused on Cas. Fear is churning horribly inside him as he sees how tired the angel looks, his attacks becoming sluggish, all his movements slow. There are already singe marks on his trenchcoat, and worse, reddened burns on his skin. Dean swears he feels his heart stop for a moment when, after several minutes, Cas drops the angel blade.

“Cas, no!” Dean tries to cry out, his voice hoarse and faint as he can feel his own life ebbing out of him.

The angel falls to his knees, head turning to look back at Dean with an expression that plainly says _I’m sorry_ as the jaguar lines up for its final attack. Dean forgets how to breathe.

Defeated, Cas turns his head back round to hang heavy as he waits for it to end. He seems ashamed that he’s lost, ashamed that he’s failed Dean, but at the same time he physically has no energy left to fight.

“ _Cas!”_ Dean cries out one final time as the flame-monster pounces, jaws aimed straight for Cas’ face, and all Dean can think is that Witt better kill him quickly after this is done, or so help him he will find a way to make the god pay.

Huitzilopochtli has a sadistic grin on his face as he watches the final attack, seemingly confident that he’s won, but then, in the last second everything changes. Suddenly, Castiel’s head snaps back up, the previously faded blue glow returning to his eyes as he clenches his jaw in grim determination. His hands scrabble for the blade that’s rolled a couple of feet away, and then as the creature descends in its leap, Cas plunges the blade into its wide open mouth.

The jaguar’s own momentum seems to drive the blade deeper, passing straight through what would have been its skull had it not consisted entirely of fire. For a moment, all Dean sees is the flames envelop Cas, and then there’s another blinding flash of white light and he has to look away. A burst of hot air hits his face like the blast from an open furnace, and then as the light fades beyond his eyelids, he slowly opens them again.

Before him, a plume of smoke hands in the air, dark grey tendrils holding the vague shape of the jaguar as they steadily dissipate. Cas is lying on the ground; visibly wounded and scorched, but conscious. He’s unmistakably weakened, drained from the fight, but as the bright blue glow steadily fades from his eyes, they still hold a defiant look of victory.

Huitzilopochtli stiffens. His eyes flash dangerously as he fixes Cas with a glare, angered that the angel has somehow defeated him. The affront won’t go unpunished.

The next part happens so fast, Dean is barely aware of it. All he sees is Cas’ eyes suddenly widen in what looks like horrified realisation, and then Huitzilopochtli spin rounds to face Dean again and swiftly raises his arm to punch forward.

The next thing Dean knows is pain. Air is forced from his lungs as he feels the sudden impact of something striking at his already wounded chest, and then all he’s aware of is the god’s hand inside him. Stunned, he blinks. His lips part in mimicry of drawing breath as his head instantly droops, chin colliding with his collarbone so that he’s left staring down at the god’s arm protruding from his ribcage. The sight is obscene. Beyond the blackness creeping at the corners of his vision, Dean can make out an olive skinned wrist emerging from a bloodied aperture that he realises leads to his own chest cavity. This barely feels real. If it weren’t for the pain or the way he can feel his heart desperately pounding, Dean could almost believe he was watching this on TV.

The agony is unbearable. He can feel a pressure tightening around his heart, strong and unrelenting while the creature chokes its every beat. It’s worse than the sharp prickle of heat searing at his back. Worse than any kind of agony he’s ever felt on earth. Only Hell offers anything to compare.

Mind hazed with pain, Dean slowly lifts his head again to stare into the god’s face. It leers at him, black eyes glinting gleefully as they reflect the surrounding firelight. He watches as its human façade begins to recede, leaving behind its true face of twisted horns and warped protrusions of bone. Its lips retract in a sadistic grin to expose two rows of razor-point teeth mere inches from his face.

Dean almost manages to breathe just so that he can try to scream. He can’t remember the last time he felt terror such as this. “ _Cas_ …” The word dies before it even reaches his mouth, but he manages to tighten his throat and move his jaw in an attempt to force it past his lips. He’s not sure if it’s a prayer, a cry for help, or just a goodbye, but he doesn’t suppose it matters. There’s probably nothing the angel can do to save him now, but if he’s going to die with an Aztec god clawing at his heart, it’s a good final word to have.

Huitzilopochtli lets his hand linger in Dean’s chest for a moment, gnarled fingers squeezing tighter so that Dean’s heart pounds frantically in his grasp. Then, just as suddenly as he plunged his fist inside, he pulls it out.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock while at the same time his vision momentarily blacks out. The intense pressure inside his chest suddenly seems to burst forth, triggering a fresh cascade of pain as it gives way to a way to a motionless void that’s just as agonizing in its emptiness. Dean feels a torrent of blood spill forth to splash across his abdomen. He blinks again, vision clearing until he can make out blurred shapes tinged with red in front of him. The god is still standing there, only inches away, its arm extended as he holds out something to Dean. It wants him to see this.

Dean’s consciousness is quickly failing, but he feels nausea swell to join the agony inside him as his gaze lands on the pulsating red mass resting in the god’s upturned palm. There. His own still-beating heart. Blood drips from the ragged ends of wrenched-apart arteries while the organ shudders and throbs, making its final forlorn beats. Dean watches it slow, feeling almost grateful for an end to the pain and horror as his vision finally fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I'm not leaving it there. There is still a lot to come. The character death warning is only a technicality.
> 
> Also, should I crosspost this to FFN or not? Usually, if it's not smut or shippy stuff I crosspost everything, but I wasn't sure about this one. Thoughts?


	3. Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. Final chapter, although I am going to post a coda and a couple of outtakes with Sam, so watch this space.

Castiel’s world stops turning. The entire universe contracts to just the few short seconds as Cas watches, helpless, while Dean’s heart is torn out. It’s too sudden to even feel real. The angel doesn’t realise that he screamed out “No!” until Huitzilopochtli turns back round again, holding out Dean’s heart for him to see.

The god smirks, his true face rippling back to human form. That only makes the leer more abhorrent. “Now you see how futile your little display of defiance was? I am a _god_ and I take what I want.”

Witt walks straight past Cas, who’s still lying on the floor in shock, towards the altar, where he tosses Dean’s heart down as if it’s just some piece of meat. He then turns his attention to a ceramic bowl, throwing in a few other things he has laid out before snapping his fingers so that a lick of flame suddenly erupts in the basin. Castiel knows enough about the Aztec deities to realize this is essentially just preparing a meal, and a wave of nausea stabs through the numbness that has taken hold of him.

_Cas, please, if you can hear me, you gotta get to Dean. I’m trapped and I don’t know how much time he has…_

Sam’s prayers are still running through Cas’ head, and the angel feels the full weight of guilt crash over him. Sam still thinks Dean could be saved; he still trusts Cas to help… and the angel has failed in the worst way possible.

The single word is stoic and resolute in Castiel’s consciousness as it springs to the front of his mind. _This isn’t over._ He’s already fatigued and most of his strength is drained, but through the numb haze of shock there’s a burning anger creeping through his veins. He’s an Angel of the Lord, and if that’s not good enough to save Dean, then it isn’t good for anything.

Huitzilopochtli is ignoring him, having decided that Cas is already too defeated to bother with and better left to stew in his own guilt, but that only makes things easier as Cas clenches his fist tighter around the handle of the angel blade and rises to his feet again. With fury in his eyes, he summons all the strength he has left to lunge forward and bring the blade down hard towards the god’s back, letting out a grief-stricken cry of anger.

The blow never lands. Without even turning his head, Witt raises a hand behind him to block the lunge, before spinning round and waving his other hand so that a fresh stream of fire sears across Cas’ abdomen. The force of it causes the angel to recoil, hissing in pain, but he immediately raises the blade again as he fixes the god with a vengeful glare.

Witt looks irritated. “Aren’t you done yet? It’s over. Your human’s dead.”

“Don’t count on him staying that way. He never has before.”

That gets a slightly puzzled raised eyebrow, but Witt still looks mostly uninterested. “Well, I don’t expect him to be alive after I eat his heart. And for that matter, I don’t expect you to be alive much longer, either.” He extends his hand again, ready to summon up more fire, but before he manages to unleash it Cas is already surging forward. The flames lick at the angel’s clothing and skin, but it does nothing to stop him as he slashes the blade straight towards Witt’s face.

The god actually seems surprised. He was unprepared for Castiel to get so close, and twists away too late for the strike to miss completely. Near-black blood spills from the cut across his cheek as he backs away, a snarl twisting on his face as his true form flickers across the human mask. Castiel doesn’t hesitate with the next blow, giving another angered yell as he tries to stab forward again, but this time Witt lets a stronger fireball blast at him and push him back.

Cas gives a grunt as his attack halts. His grace is already near spent, and he’s having to use up so much energy just to partially heal the burns. He’s still taking a moment to recover when, this time, Witt is the one who attacks, springing forward with a snarl as he lets his true form burst forth. His horns ram the air just inches from Cas’ face as gnarled fingers sink their claws into the angel’s chest, and Cas feels himself knocked from his feet as he’s slammed backwards against the altar. The ceramic bowl and several other items are knocked to the floor, but the god just seems too angry to care right now, teeth snapping menacingly at Cas.

“You angels have always believed yourselves better than us,” the gods spits at him, “Looking down on every deity other than yours; slowly stamping on every other religion to make yourselves feel more powerful. Well, look at you now, _angel_. You couldn’t even save one little human; what makes you think you can take on a _god_?”

Cas groans as he feels the claws twist deeper inside him, inching closer to his own heart. As he twists his head, he realises he’s pinned down so that Dean’s heart is still lying there on the altar right beside him, blood pooling beneath it. It occurs to Cas that the god couldn’t tear his own heart out now even if he tried: he already did just minutes ago when he tore out Dean’s. Gritting his teeth, Cas tightens his grip on the angel blade and raises it again to stab towards Witt’s neck.

One of the hands clawing at his chest is suddenly wrenched out as Huizilopochtli puts up an arm to block the blow, fingers closing tightly around Cas’ wrist. The god gives him a mocking look. “Did you really think that would work?”

“No,” Cas grunts, locking eyes with the god so that black pits stare into furious pools of blue. “But this might.” Suddenly, Castiel brings up his other hand, clutching the sacrificial knife that had fallen to the floor. The tip punches in just below the god’s ribcage, angling upwards so that the full length of flint penetrates straight into Huitzilopochtli’s heart. A sharp grunt leaves the god’s mouth as the blow strikes home.

For a moment, nothing else happens. The god stares down at Cas, features taking on a strangely human look of shock, and then a horrible rumbling groan begins to sound in its throat. Castiel feels a sharp heat strike at his hand clutching the blade as flames erupt from the wound, and he quickly pulls it back. He’s pinned in place, unable to back off as fire starts to consume the god’s body from the inside out, but then Huitzilopochtli begins to shudder and twitch as the groan turns into an agonized roar.

He’s still glaring down at Cas in fury, but as it looks like he’s going to try attacking again the inferno growing inside him wrenches his body away. Blackened skin begins to crack like volcanic crust on the brink of an eruption, and Cas turns his head away as the god’s body becomes engulfed in fire.

The entire room shakes. There’s a rumbling in the air as inhuman screams tear from a burning throat, crescendoing until finally, the fireball explodes.

It sounds like a bomb detonating, and Cas feel the floor tremble while at the same time some of the surrounding masonry loudly cracks. The chains still suspending Dean from the ceiling come loose, and Cas hears the faint thud as his body hits the floor. Even though the angel knows Dean is dead already, instinct still makes him throw himself across the floor to cover Dean’s body with his own, scared that the whole place is going to cave in.

The flames that consumed the last of Witt’s body stream upwards towards the ceiling, where they gather for a moment before spreading out in a disc, and then finally dissipate. The fire that had been burning around the walls dies with them.

As everything goes still, Cas lies motionless for a moment or two more to be sure that it’s over. Even though the fire has died, there’s faint light streaming in now from the gaps in the walls where they crumbled, and it’s enough for Cas to make out Dean’s face. Even stained with soot and blood, it almost looks like the hunter could be sleeping if it weren’t for the gaping hole torn in his chest. “Dean…” There’s a tremor in Cas’ voice as he reaches up to gently cup Dean’s face, finally letting the horror of what just happened set in. The first tear spills. “Dean, I’m so sorry…”

It’s probably just from the heat of the fire, but Dean’s body still feels warm in Cas’ arms, like the last drop of life hasn’t left him yet. Maybe it hasn’t.

Cas turns his head again to look back towards the altar, seeing that Dean’s heart is still lying there, unharmed save for the fact _it isn’t in Dean’s body where it’s supposed to be._ Castiel doesn’t know if he can do this. His energy is already almost completely spent, but if there’s any use he’s going to put the last of his grace to, it has to be saving Dean.

The angel picks himself up, scrambling over to the altar so that he picks up the bloody organ in his hand. It's wet, heavy, yielding and slippery beneath Cas' fingers. The softness of it makes it seem so vulnerable: a part of Dean that was never meant to leave the safety of his ribcage or become exposed to the outside world. Even when he knows how strongly it could beat inside Dean's chest, the organ seems so fragile as Cas cradles it in his palm. He feels a vague sense of wrongness about holding it as he hurries back to Dean’s body, but he doesn’t let himself linger on that as he focuses all his attention on getting this to work. Gently, he raises Dean’s upper body off the floor with his left arm, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow as he tries to figure out what to do. This all feels so strange, and honestly it had been simpler the first time Cas had brought Dean back to life. Back then, he hadn’t had so many complicated emotions taking over his mind and messing things up, but he tries not to let them overwhelm him as he concentrates on what he has to do.

Dean’s chest is a mess. It’s a bloody pulp of ripped muscle and snapped ribs, but Cas is going to have to work with it, because he doesn’t have enough strength left to heal Dean from the ground up. Taking a deep breath, Cas lifts up Dean’s heart and slides it back into the hollow space. It doesn’t quite fit right. Dean’s ribs are all misplaced and everything’s been horribly mangled, but the organ still slots in between Dean’s lungs, the arteries and veins lining up with their severed counterparts.

Irrationally, Cas feels horribly guilty as he realises he has his hand inside Dean’s chest, clutching his torn-out heart. This feels like his fault.

“Come on,” he murmurs softly, focusing all his energy on getting the tissues to heal and piece themselves back together. Cas can feel the light of his grace flickering in and out as he tries so hard to get it to work, but there’s a horrible sense of helplessness gnawing away inside him as he realises he might not be enough. “Come on, please heal…”

He’s praying. Even when he knows he’s supposed to be the one on the receiving end, he can’t help but send out a plea to someone _somewhere_ for help, because he _can’t_ lose Dean. Can’t fail him. Not like this.

There’s a blessed sense of relief as Cas at last feels the arteries and tissues inside Dean’s chest reconnect. Grateful tears spill as he hoists Dean’s body closer to him, daring to hope that this is working, but fear starts to tear as insides again as he realises he can’t get it to go any further. He’s still kneeling here with his hand wrapped around Dean’s heart, but he doesn’t have enough strength left to get it to beat.

“No, come _on,_ ” Cas continues to beg, burying his face in Dean’s hair and pulling him even closer in desperation. There’s only the tiniest spark of power left in him, but it _has_ to be enough. “I’ve brought you back from worse than this before, Dean Winchester. Now, _live_.”

The space of a heartbeat passes, and Cas holds his breath, knowing that’s truly the last of his angelic power spent. He waits, a wave of despair waiting just beyond the tidal barrier to crash over him, but then he feels it. A flutter of movement in the muscle beneath his fingers. Tentatively, Dean’s heart starts to beat.

Cas lets out a choked noise of relief, rejoicing in the feel of the muscle starting to rhythmically contract in between the gentle swelling of Dean’s lungs, but he knows he’s still not done. Dean’s chest is still ripped open and his sternum split in two, but he’s alive, and Cas really doesn’t know if right now he can do any more. He’s about to pull his hand out and make one final attempt to heal Dean completely, when he’s taken by surprise by Dean’s eyes suddenly fluttering open.

Instantly, Castiel tenses. The first thought that springs into his mind is of how much pain Dean must be in, accompanied by a wave of guilt, but it catches him off guard as he meets Dean’s eyes. There’s no pain there. Slight disorientation at first, perhaps, but as Dean focuses his gaze on Cas, the look that comes into his eyes is simply one of recognition. Trust. Gratitude. Love.

Cas feels his breath catch as the reality of the situation finally hits him. Here he is, holding Dean’s beating heart in his hand, and all Dean is doing is watching him. He’s almost completely overwhelmed by the trust Dean has in him before he sees the hunter’s eyes slip closed again, once more succumbing to unconsciousness. Right now, that’s probably for the best.

Steadily, Cas eases his hand back out of Dean’s chest, careful not to re-cause any of the damage he’s just repaired, but he still feels an awful wave of guilt as he sees Dean’s blood coating his hand. He’s just trying to figure out how to now get help when he hears another voice calling out from behind him.

“Cas?”

The angel turns his head to see Sam’s tall form illuminated beyond one of the recently-made gaps in the walls. He looks somewhat beat up, the result of whatever had gotten him and Dean captured in the first place, while there’s pure desperation on his face as he searches for his brother. As his gaze shifts from Cas to the unconscious bleeding body in the angel’s arms, his expression turns to horror. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive,” Cas answers quickly before Sam can even finish the question. “But I can’t heal him any further. Call an ambulance.”

Sam nods distractedly, pulling out his cell phone as he clambers over the rubble to hurry over to Dean. The younger brother is already on the line to 911 by the time he’s kneeling beside them, and Cas just closes his eyes and hugs Dean’s body to his chest as he finally lets himself believe that everything is going to be okay.


	4. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I said I was going to write a little bit more to round everything up, which this is, but the outtakes with Sam are still to come.

-oOo-

There’s a repetitive beeping noise grating on Dean’s eardrums. It’s whiny, and irritating, and he wishes somebody would just get it to stop. He lets out a groan, having a vague sense that he wants to complain about it as he slowly wakes up. He can feel there are warm sheets enveloping his body, and he’s lying slightly propped up on a stiff bed while he has a vague awareness that somebody’s gripping onto his hand. The sterile scent that hits his nose clues him into the fact he’s in hospital an instant before he opens his eyes, blinking once or twice as he stares into the brightness of his surroundings.

His confusion only lasts a moment before he remembers everything that happened and how he must have gotten here. A dull throb of pain shoots through his chest as he tries to move, and he groans, becoming aware of the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. He’s just about fully woken up when he hears a gravelly, familiar voice speaking beside him. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists his head a little to look properly at Cas, who’s staring at him with an expression of utmost relief still mixed with some degree of concern. It occurs to Dean that Cas is the one holding his hand, and he feels the angel give it a squeeze.

“You’re awake.”

“Uh…yeah, guess I am,” Dean says back lamely, his eyes darting round to the other side of the bed where he can see Sam sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. His younger brother is asleep, chin drooping onto his chest while his long, unkempt hair falls to slightly obscure his face. Dean can still see how pale his skin is, and judging by the way his clothes are dishevelled and they’re the same ones Dean last remembers Sam wearing, this is the first sleep his brother’s had in a while.

“He hasn’t left,” Dean hears Cas say as he notices where he’s looking. “It’s been two days. I struggled to convince him to even go eat or sleep. He just wanted to stay with you in that chair the whole time.”

That touches Dean deeply, but deciding that Sam looks like he needs the rest, he turns his head to look back at the angel again. He notices that Cas is still sporting some burn marks on his face and is also looking like he could do with some sleep. “What about you? You don’t look so hot yourself,” Dean says gruffly, finding that speaking takes no small amount of effort.

“Fighting the god drained much of my energy,” Cas replies steadily, although an apologetic look enters his eyes. “Enough that I couldn’t heal you fully. I still haven’t fully replenished it.” There’s a pause in which Cas looks down, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles over the back of Dean’s hand. He takes a deep breath and then looks up to meet the hunter’s eyes again. “How much do you remember? Of what happened?”

Dean swallows. As the memories start to come back in detail he feels his heart start to beat faster, and from the increased frequency of the monitor’s beeping, Cas knows it too. Dean shuts his eyes and tries not to think about it too hard. “Some of it,” he replies, deliberately concentrating on keeping his breathing steady.

Noticing Dean’s discomfort, Cas moves to place his other hand on Dean’s as well and cup it between his palms, letting his fingers rub comfortingly over Dean’s knuckles. He looks distraught by Dean’s reaction. “I’m so sorry you have to be here, Dean,” he says, a look of shame crossing over his features. “So sorry I couldn’t stop this happening.”

“Cas, hey,” Dean immediately reassures, twitching his fingers so that Cas can feel it. “What the hell are you apologising for, man? You saved my life.”

“I know, but…” Cas takes a breath and looks down again, words seeming to fail him.

There’s silence for a moment or two in which Cas just concentrates on caressing Dean’s hand, finding it the only form of expression that seems adequate right now. Dean says nothing, but lets Cas continue, taking comfort in the way the angel gently entangles then disentangles his fingers with Dean’s, the attention he pays to tracing shapes over the ridges of Dean’s tendons and knuckles. It’s intimate, but at the same time tentative, as if Cas wants to touch him but is scared to approach any other part of his body.

Dean’s mouth goes dry as he gets a creeping sense of what’s wrong. The longer the silence drags out, the more he feels a need to say something. Eventually he gets up the courage to lick his dry lips and speak. “Cas?”

The angel suddenly looks up at him again, not speaking, but he almost seems like he’s holding back tears.

Dean finds his voice is strangled when he tries to say the next part. “I remember what happened.” He takes a deep breath. “I remember you holding my heart.”

Cas stares at him, biting his lip and looking beyond anxious as he tries to figure out what that means or what Dean’s feeling. All he manages to say is a nervous, “I know.”

Dean holds his gaze steadily. “And it’s okay.”

A moment passes in dead silence, before Cas blinks and swallows as if he’s trying not to cry. “How can you say _it’s okay_?”

“Because, Cas, I…”

“Dean, I was holding your _dead heart_ ,” Cas suddenly blurts out, angry and distraught. “That had just been ripped out of you. Don’t tell me that’s okay.”

Dean falls silent. He doesn’t know what to do or say, or how to really process this. It’s only just dawning on him the magnitude of what happened: that he’d been dead, and Cas had held onto his heart, and then he’d been alive again. He feels something else pang painfully in his chest.

Dean looks up at Cas and blinks once slowly before he again tries to speak. “But then you made it beat again.” His voice is quiet, almost awed, but overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now, but he’s sure there nothing but love and gratitude towards Cas.

“And left you in agony while I did,” Cas replies bitterly, the anger in his tone directed inward, horrified that he could have caused Dean to feel that; horrified that being able to hold Dean’s beating heart was something that he’d once _wanted._

“It didn’t hurt, Cas,” Dean says quietly, and the angel looks up at him with an expression of surprised scepticism and confusion. “I mean, it did. The whole part with having my heart ripped out was agony,” Dean somewhat backtracks. “But not you. You were the only part that felt…safe. When you had hold of my heart, that was when I knew things were going to be okay.”

Cas swallows, and Dean can see his eyes glistening as he stares at him with a look filled with both love and no small amount of guilt. Tenderly, Dean moves the hand Cas isn’t holding to close around the angel’s fingers, and then uses both his hands to guide Cas’ palm to rest on his bandaged chest. “See? It’s okay.”

The angel blinks and then moves his other hand to cup Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone as he brings their faces close and touches their foreheads together. For the first time he starts to relax as he stares into Dean’s eyes, reassured by the feel of the heartbeat beneath his hand, _inside Dean’s chest, where it should be._ “Why are you telling me it’s okay?” Cas murmurs softly, still in awe of Dean that he isn’t breaking down in tears like Cas feels he wants to. “I should be telling you that.”

“Tell me, then,” Dean whispers, and Cas replies in a voice that’s still slightly trembling, “ _It’s okay.”_

Their lips press together in a tender, chaste kiss, full of the love and reassurance they both need in that moment. When the angel repeats the words for a second time, that’s when they both truly believe it.


	5. Deleted Scene #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a small part that was meant to go at the start of chapter two, and there was supposed to be a scene about Sam being trapped somewhere following it, but it was all just a mess, and if I can tidy it up I'll post a bit more.

_Cas, he’s got Dean._

Sam’s voice sounds in Cas’ head; desperate, urgent, yet strangely distant. It’s muted somehow, as if Cas is hearing it underwater, but he can’t mistake the panic in Sam’s tone.

_We were wrong about it being werewolves or witches: there’s an Aztec god. He’s taken Dean and I think he’s gonna sacrifice him._

The prayer is muffled, but it has Cas’ attention instantly. The same fear in Sam’s voice springs up inside the angel as he realises what it means.

_We need your help, man. I don’t know where I am… Underground, somewhere, I think, but I’m trapped. If you can hear me at all, you gotta get to Dean…_

Instantly, all else the angel was concerned with fades into insignificance. Finding Dean is now his only priority as he flies to where he knows the brothers were last on a hunt. He’s struggling to sense where Sam is, some unholy force blocking his grace, and the effort of searching is making his head spin. He switches his attention instead to Dean, focusing so hard to feel the presence of his soul somewhere in the city.

If Dean’s here, Cas is sure he will sense it. He knows the essence of Dean so well; has become so familiar with him after having the hunter fall asleep in his arms so often, and Dean is the one thing he will always gravitate to. No matter how strongly cloaked Dean is, it won’t stop Cas finding him.

Sam’s prayers still ring out distantly in the back of his mind, but he’s helpless to find the younger brother, and right now Castiel knows he needs to locate Dean first. He hasn’t been searching long before another voice penetrates his awareness, even more desperate and fearful than before.

_Cas…_

Cas feels something twist at his heart as he recognizes Dean’s voice crying out for him, the single syllable laced with pain. Anger immediately surges through the angel towards whatever’s harming Dean, but it only panics Cas further when he realizes he still can’t find him. He clenches his fists and concentrates harder.

When Cas finally picks up something, just the faintest trace, he follows it instantly.


End file.
